


Clarence

by perfection_is_redundant



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gothic, Nineteenth Century England, Parental Physical Abuse (slight), Parental emotional abuse, Regency, Regency Romance, Servants, Vampires, british nobility, footmen who don't do anything, giant houses and girls who write in them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-05 00:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10293254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfection_is_redundant/pseuds/perfection_is_redundant
Summary: With nowhere else to go, a newly made vampire tries to continue his human habit of serving in great houses. It does not go as planned.





	1. Chapter One

Monsters of the lower orders do not fare so well as those of the higher. To be a rich monster is fashionable, but to be a poor one? No fate is worse, for then the allure of wickedness is gone, and without rouge and powder (so to speak), only the bare, haggard face of vice remains. I am a monster of the former sort, and I wish I could say that God smite (smit? Smited? Unsure of tense; must ask Miss Frances) me down so that I might be a grave and awful example for my readers, but sadly this life is treating me well thus far. But I am sure I shall die alone and repentant, so keep reading and perhaps the virtuous among us will be satisfied.

Forgive me; I moralize far too much. Miss Frances is convinced that I’ve read too many pamphlets written by philanthropic societies. But I ought not to start with Miss Frances, though my mind naturally tends that way at the moment.

However, my story does not begin with her, as agreeable as _that_ beginning would be to me.

For my tale begins in wickedness. Then again, perhaps it is better for the reader if I reveal my unhappy beginning gradually, so as to avoid overwhelming delicate constitutions. And I really want to get to that part about Miss Frances. So I shall commence on a rainy day in March, the day I was looking for work in service, my old position having become inconvenient.

Mrs Harlow had put an ad in the newspaper for a footman; having some experience in that profession, I gladly answered it. Prior inquiries about the Harlows revealed information not altogether pleasing. They came from trade, and if not for Mr Harlow’s sudden turn in fortune, they would have still been renting a modest town-house in Hatton—the village in which I now found myself. Everyone likes to mistreat servants, but tradesmen are sometimes particularly bad, for they are not as far above us as they would like, and so feel the need to make their status apparent. But nothing of that sort was spoken of; only that Mrs Harlow was sometimes surprisingly familiar and Mr Harlow a little gruff. After my last position, this situation sounded like heaven in comparison. I tried not to remember that this place had none of the prestige of my old one, consoling myself that a smaller house would mean less toil. The farmer’s cart I had managed to obtain a ride on did not comfort me. I think I may have gotten hay on my breeches.

When the Harlows’ house—half-way between a cottage and a manor—came into view, I paid the farmer a few shillings and took the servants’ entrance, explained my purpose, and was sent to the study to wait.

Some time later, a stout woman smelling of yarn and cinnamon bustled in and took her seat, introducing herself as Mrs Harlow. She looked me over sharply.

‘Gracious, I should have taken for you a gentleman if they had not said who was waiting for me.’

‘My old master’s castoffs, ma’am.’

‘And you chose not to sell them?’ she said.

It was not her business what I did with my clothes, but all inquiries must be answered, so I said I had not had the opportunity. She seemed satisfied.

Since I had read every servants’ manual in existence, I answered her first round of questions easily, but when asked to produce references, I was obliged to tell her I had none.

‘No references!’ she cried. ‘Why, that is very odd; whatever happened?’

‘No one had time to draw any up, ma’am,’ I replied, almost honestly. ‘My former master died suddenly, and there was a great deal of confusion before I was let go. There were financial difficulties, ma’am.’

A wrinkle in her brow and a sternness in her eye betrayed her disbelief, but she continued pretty well. ‘And who was your master?’

‘The late earl of—, ma’am.’ I did not mention that I had mainly served his son.

‘An earl!’ Mrs Harlow was unable to restrain her delight, but she checked herself quickly. ‘I suppose I can hire you without a character, but—’

Just as Mrs Harlow tempered her enthusiasm about my situation, I contained my exultations about being so very close to my aim. A girl’s voice interrupted us, and that broke me out of it.

‘Well, I did manage to meet a witty clergyman, but he was too cynical for my tastes. But Louisa got two proposals! I believe that makes her the recipient of five offers and nine conquests in total, whereas I have currently null. Well, I don’t count Matthew… _Does_ he count?’

Mrs Harlow, with an expression of greatest alarm, began to speak, but the girl overrode her. I realized that from the new visitor’s angle of view in the room, Mrs Harlow was the only one in it. I, in the meantime, had a full view of the young woman leaning against the door frame and twirling a brown curl round her finger. She had a slight figure, and looked as if she slept as much as I did, which is to say none. But she would not wait for me to finish my perusal; she was not done.

‘I don’t believe he does. After all, he only took an interest after I wore that red gown with no shoulders to an assembly. A proper conquest ought to involve more stratagem than simply showing a bit of shoulder. A dropped handkerchief, a—a—’

‘Frances!’ said Mrs Harlow.

‘And I am quite certain he kept staring at my bosom throughout the whole visit. It was most vexing. When around him, I must remember to wear a higher décolle—déco —whatever it is,’ she finished, with true flippancy. ‘Why are you in the study?’

Mrs Harlow closed her eyes long and hard. ‘Because I am interviewing a servant.’

Frances (Miss Frances, actually, as I was sure she was Mrs Harlow’s daughter) looked faintly sick. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, my dear,’ said Mrs Harlow grimly. ‘You had better step in and let me introduce you, as I’m hiring him. He didn’t even crack a smile throughout that entire recital, which I think is a pretty good recommendation.’

Rearranging her expression, Miss Frances stepped primly into the study, as if she had never mortified herself. I had to stop and admire such forced composure. It rivalled mine at the moment.

‘I think,’ said Mrs Harlow, ‘that I shall test you for two weeks. If you do well, we shall keep you. Lucas is the first, so you will be the second. I do hope you’ll forgive my daughter; she’s much too careless.’

Miss Frances showed nothing. Emotion seemed to be a mistake she only made once.

‘Ah, yes, I ought to introduce you, haven’t I? Lord, but I’m getting old. You said your name was Clarence?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Well, there you have it, Frances, his name is Clarence and he’s to undergo trial for two weeks, unless he decides we’re all mad and gets heartily sick of us.’

This aside put me on my guard. Masters who adopted too light of a manner were often trying to _lure one in_ to a disagreeable situation, but even if that was Mrs Harlow’s intention, I had no other choice but to take the opportunity she offered me. I had no character to recommend me elsewhere.

‘When shall he have his livery?’ said Miss Frances.

‘I don’t know, to be sure,’ said Mrs Harlow. ‘Perhaps after we’ve bought our coat of arms.’

Only years of careful training saved me from laughter. I recall that I almost appreciated the sheer vulgarity of it, when my pride still hadn’t been knocked out of me. To think, I had the temerity to regard myself above them! I was very different, back then.

‘We’re trying to infiltrate the gentry you see,’ said Mrs Harlow, ‘and I’m only telling you now because you’ll hear it from all quarters later.’

I really couldn’t ask for better amusement, but unfortunately, I could not acknowledge my enjoyment, and so I was left with nothing to say. Anything out of my mouth would be construed as mockery, I was sure, precisely because it _would_ be mockery. I could only bow.

‘Well, that will be all, Clarence. Do talk to Lewis, our butler, when you go downstairs.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ At last, I was free to escape these masters of confusion.

Shall I end the chapter here? Nothing else happened that day, besides my introduction to Mr Lewis (dreadful man, prone to shouting about plates) and Lucas, the vaunted first footman. My hair did not match his and he lacked a wig, so I concluded that the infiltration of the gentry must be abominably half-hearted. Perhaps Mr Harlow did not share his wife’s ambitions, and refused to provide the funds for such a scheme. Either way, I had found myself employment, and slept easy that night.

Just as I am inscribing _Chapter Two_ in my best hand, I remember the word was smote. But I shall not correct it; I despise ugly marks and addendums on pages. No, I shall leave it as a testament to my ignorance.


	2. Chapter 2

Miss Frances was not at breakfast, but she deigned to appear at dinner. She did not seem humiliated by the spectacle she had made of herself; on the contrary, she regarded me with cool scrutiny. I did not like to be regarded. I much preferred to be ignored, but she kept her eyes on me the whole time I was serving dinner. She glanced around the room at intervals, so as to avoid notice, but I felt her gaze every time she looked at me.

To be quite honest, I set the platter down two inches farther left that it should have been because her eyes made me nervous. I believe it was the first time anyone I was serving ever saw me as I was, instead of a tool to be used. It unsettled me profoundly.

The next day, I served Miss Harlow and Miss Frances tea in the parlour, and the latter noticed me again, though I poured her tea in a perfect show of indifferent readiness. With curious deliberation, she began a conversation.

‘Clarence being here reminds me of something, but I’m sure I don’t—oh! I remember. Mama actually told him that the livery wouldn’t be ready because she hadn’t bought a coat of arms yet. I wonder if there’s a polite way to say that you bought your coat of arms…’

‘The polite thing to do is not buy a coat of arms at all.’

‘Shall I save the expense and paint it on the carriage, then?’

The only response Miss Frances received was a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head. Once done pouring the tea, I took my natural place against the wall by the door, for I had not been dismissed. My hearing was uncommonly good these days, so I caught their every word.

‘Think of the poor footmen, Frances; is their livery to be sacrificed for your economy?’

‘Indeed, I had not thought of them. To think, without their livery, they might actually be mistaken for gentlemen! Horrors! And, they might scandalize Mrs Blackwood, a fate I would wish upon no one.’

‘Frances, what did you say to her?’

‘Well, you know how she is, subtly implying this and that.’

‘What did _she_ say?’

‘Something about how flighty, impulsive, and ‘fashionably daring’ I was. By which she no doubt meant that I was quite an _abandoned woman_.’ Clutching her (what else) décolletage, she struck a languishing pose, only to brighten almost immediately. ‘So I told her that I didn’t give a fig about my defects of character, because seven thousand a year would more than compensate for them.’

Miss Harlow couldn’t seem to decide whether to eat the scone in her hand or cover her mouth in horror, so she settled on holding the scone awkwardly to the side of her lips.

‘I believe Mrs Blackwood only has fifty pounds a year,’ said Miss Frances blandly, ‘so I do hope she holds no ill will.’

I felt obliged to admire the sheer shamelessness of such vulgarity.

Miss Frances being her sister, Miss Harlow did not share my sentiments. ‘Frances!’ she shrieked. ‘We’ll be known as the most vulgar family in the neighbourhood!’

‘Oh! Who listens to Mrs Blackwood?’ said Miss Frances carelessly.

‘Mrs Barton, Mrs Sherry, Mrs Harris, and Lady Sheffield, to name a few. All of them noted names in the community.’

‘Oh,’ said Miss Frances, somewhat chastened, but not nearly enough. ‘Well, I had this conversation before we went to Bath, so I’m sure she’s forgotten all about it.’

Miss Harlow gave her a look that said all.

‘Perhaps not,’ said Miss Frances wryly. ‘Surely we can invite her to dinner, then, and prove that we’re not so horrid after all?’

‘If she’ll accept, I don’t see why not, but I very much doubt it. Do you have any idea how rude that was?’

‘Of course I do. That’s why I did it, so she wouldn’t feel the need to talk to me ever again. I call it a happy bargain.’

‘It wasn’t kind to mock her poverty, Frances.’

‘She is poor because her husband was a gamester, so she is in no position to censure me,’ Miss Frances snapped.

‘That’s totally irrelevant. Do you even understand what you did wrong?’

‘Yes, I revealed that I value wealth more than propriety. But I thought everyone already knew that. The whole neighbourhood hated us even when we rented every year precisely for the same reason.’

‘And you’re not helping! Good God, Frances, you’ll ruin both our prospects!’ This last was hissed in a near whisper. I thanked God for my hearing.

‘By that, I suppose you mean we would have difficulty finding husbands richer than we are.’

‘Frances!’

‘All right, I’ll stop. And I’ll even invite her to dinner personally.’

‘No, you little minx, _I_ will.’

‘I don’t understand what the fuss is about; if she didn’t want to be reminded of how rich I am, she could have abstained from attempting to shame me on the street.’

‘A truly impossible undertaking!’ Miss Harlow muttered.

Miss Frances only winked and began talking of something else entirely, but she sent me a half-smile when Miss Harlow was reaching for a scone. I pretended I had not seen it; I was too sensible to throw my employment away for flirtation with idle young women who had nothing else to do with their lives besides pay court to their servants. If Miss Frances’ thoughts tended in that direction, she would not be the first to make me such an offer, and she would not be the first I rejected. Such was my reasoning at the time.

It would have been much simpler if those _had_ been her intentions, but they were not, and thus I was doomed. But I will tell more on that score later.

After Miss Harlow remembered my existence and dismissed me, I asked Lucas if the Harlows always talked in front of their servants while we were putting away the china.

‘Yes, always, and it’s a test of our loyalty, or something of the sort. The last one of us who gossiped was dismissed immediately. Mrs Harlow has a way of tracing it back to us. The master’s gruff and gives us all hell, sure, but it’s the mistress that’s to be feared. Don’t be taken in by her soft words. Miss Frances is the same.’

Lucas was not a quick man, but he seemed steady enough, so I trusted him in this particular, but I was not entirely satisfied with my new family. If all this outrage was merely a test of my trustworthiness, I didn’t like to think of the lengths they would go to accomplish an important end.

‘When does their kindness run out?’

‘Why, never, if you are good,’ he said, surprised. ‘If you don’t cross them they are the best mistresses one could hope for. Just stay out of Mr Harlow’s way when he’s drunk. Bit of a libertine, now I think on it. But the odd thing is, I am not sure Mrs Harlow minds very much.’

‘Perhaps she has her own lovers,’ I said with a smile, and he looked rather startled, but could not reply because Mr Lewis came in to tell us to talk less and work harder.

Pleasing Mrs Harlow and Miss Frances seemed simple enough, as I liked to keep information to myself, so I rested easy in the security of my position. Indeed, pleasing Mrs Harlow was not very difficult, as she asked my advice on seemingly everything, from how many servants to show a guest (I told her six, and she said mildly that such show sounded rather ostentatious), to whether we had enough servants for a house this size (to which I answered that I must stay a few more weeks to determine). Pleasing her may have easy, but I was deeply suspicious of her. Life had not taught me to trust easily, so I concluded she had another motive.

‘I am so glad you are here, Clarence,’ she would say, ‘for now I can have a gathering in style.’

By that, I supposed she meant she would attempt to woo all the old ladies Miss Frances had insulted. I wished her good fortune; she would have need of it.

I was able to rest easy about Miss Frances, at least; after a few days, she lost her interest. I was now quite invisible, just as I liked it, and this state of affairs probably would have continued if not for a visit from Mrs Blackwood. Unfortunately for my anonymity, a series of events conspired against me.

I had just received my livery—a plain black and red affair, which was more tasteful than I had expected. The coat of arms now gleamed proudly from the rather beaten down carriage, but it too was painted with surprising decorum. I half suspected that Louisa had had a say in the decorations. But I am getting distracted. At half past eleven, Mrs Blackwood paid us a call, and only Frances and I were on hand to receive her, Mrs and Miss Harlow having taken Lucas to carry their purchases in town and Lewis being so engaged in rearranging the pantry that nothing could pull him away.

I was a little nervous, I confess, at having to prove my mettle against so fearsome an old lady in a place where I was not yet settled, though I would have thought nothing of it in my old place. But then my former master had not entertained many upright widows.

Mrs Blackwood had arrived on foot, and looked very cross in the sun. When I went to give her card to Miss Frances, who was lounging on the couch with volume I of _Cecilia_ , she regarded the fateful little slip of paper with calculating distaste.

‘She has no carriage,’ said Miss Frances.

‘She came on foot, miss.’

‘It does not do,’ she sighed, ‘to turn away poor widows. I believe there is a passage in the Bible. Several, actually. I suppose we must bear her.’

Upon my showing her in, Mrs. Blackwood’s lip curled at the sad little china bowl that now held her calling card, but she seemed taken aback by something I couldn’t discern.

_Cecilia_ was hastily shoved under a pillow, curtsies were exchanged, and Miss Frances tried to make conversation.

‘Clarence said that you walked,’ she said. ‘I hope that you did not suffer in the heat.’

‘I did,’ said Mrs Blackwood coldly. ‘But I am obliged to congratulate you on your new house, and so here I am.’

‘Such dedication to politeness is to be admired.’ Giving one of her odd half-smiles, Miss Frances asked if her guest wanted refreshment and received a sneering negative.

‘Ah, but _I_ want them, and I often find that the sight of food provokes a change of heart,’ said Miss Frances lightly, and away I went.

On my return I found silence. Miss Frances was gazing serenely out the window, but Mrs Blackwood’s eyes never left me. When I was beginning to grow disturbed, she spoke.

‘Upon my word, you are quiet as a mouse. Where did you work before here?’

‘I was employed by the Earl of—, ma’am,’ I said.

‘The Earl of—!’ she exclaimed. ‘The late father or the son?’

I was here at a dilemma. If I said the father, anyone might discover the lie, by some remote chance—or at least all the books warned of the liar’s fate. If I admitted to serving the son, my character became immediately suspect.

And yet, Mrs Harlow might not dismiss me just for serving a bad master. My skills were too valuable, and Mrs Harlow was rather irregular by any standard.

‘The son, ma’am.’

The reactions to this revelation were two-fold. Miss Frances’s eyes brightened in interest, while Mrs Blackwood sniffed with a satisfied little smirk.

‘So that is why you are so well trained, though I do wonder what you have seen, serving such a libertine. The family was disgraced because of him; he squandered the whole fortune in a few years.’

‘No doubt it was a very exciting time for him, ma’am,’ I said, pouring Miss Frances’s tea.

‘And for you, was it an exciting time for you?’ said Mrs Blackwood.

‘I did my duty, ma’am,’ I replied. ‘If _that_ were exciting, more would be eager to fulfil it.’

With an almost angry laugh, she dropped the subject, and took her leave soon after. No, she did not need the carriage, a refreshing walk did one good. She abhorred luxury, etc., etc.

Holding the door for her, I listened to this nonsense with perfect composure, though a spell of nausea nearly knocked me off my feet. The results of failing to feed.

‘I quite agree,’ Miss Frances, though she probably didn’t, ‘that exercise enlivens the—mind, I suppose?—and I would never keep you from the pursuit of health—but I really do fear that the sun is too much today.’

Mrs Blackwood glanced towards the window, with a look of disguised trepidation. Chasing after victory, Miss Frances provided an addendum. ‘You must allow me to show generosity. Heaven is given to the generous, isn’t it?’

‘I have never heard of such a verse.’

‘I am quite sure _I_ have,’ said Miss Frances, ‘and you will be very wicked if you keep me from Heaven, Mrs Blackwood.’

Keeping Miss Frances from heaven seemed to be an incentive, for the righteous woman finally walked out the door. Miss Frances sneered at her retreating back.

After I saw her out, I was joined in the foyer by Miss Frances, who took Mrs Blackwood’s card out of the bowl and fanned herself with it. ‘She thinks you are too polished for this house, so she had to find a fault with you. Thus you’re a degenerate, because we could never hire anyone else besides a degenerate. Expect accusations of highway robbery tomorrow.’

The word ‘robbery’ brought up a few unpleasant memories (or pleasant, depending on morality of my reader).

‘Wherever would I have learned such bad habits?’ I said lightly. ‘The young master had better sense than _that_.’

‘So—no highway robbery, then?’ she replied, with equal gaiety, but her smile was not quite sincere. ‘What sort of trouble did his lordship get up to, I wonder?’

‘The usual,’ I replied, flicking a speck off the doorknob. ‘Gaming, dissipation, luxury in excess. Vice is always made to appear more interesting than it _is_.’ I believe I culled that platitude from a very moral work, but I could not remember which.

‘I believe you,’ said Miss Frances. Her eyes never strayed from mine, and I began to grow uneasy once more.

‘But I fear I must agree with Mrs Blackwood in one particular,’ she continued. ‘I wonder what you must have seen. There is always a story behind ‘gaming, dissipation, and luxury in excess’, is there not? Even if it’s a dull one. Will you not edify me, then, and teach me precisely how unappealing corruption _truly_ is? It would be very bad to deny me proper moral instruction.’

I began to grow a little impatient. I liked to keep my secrets, remember, and prying mistresses led to an unbearable state of mind. I was also terribly hungry, and had to grab at the doorknob to remain standing. I was _always_ hungry.

'It's hardly fitting for a servant to instruct a master,' I demurred.

'Very well,' said Miss Frances, 'but if you must follow the proprieties, you have picked a poor house to do it in.'

I had one last weapon in my arsenal, one which hurt me to deploy as much as everyone else in the vicinity. I read too many moral works, and had grown quite proficient in regurgitating them to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the same room. And thus I began.

'Do the proprieties change according to circumstance?' I asked. ‘I thought that manners beautify every place, regardless of circumstance. Or so I have been told.’

Throw enough fine words together, I found, and I could confuse anyone into submission—except, apparently, for Miss Frances.

‘A true gentleman always suits his manners to circumstance, while always maintaining blameless conduct,’ she said, almost reciting.

‘I am not a gentleman, miss.’

‘No, I suppose you are not, so I shall get nothing out of you. Gentlemen are more careless,’ she said merrily, and with a laugh, she walked upstairs.

My fingers slipped off the doorknob and I slid to the floor. If anyone found me like this, I was utterly finished, but I could not quite bring myself to care. I had not been so foolish since I was fifteen, but then I had never willingly starved myself, either. Smiling ruefully, I glanced down at my hands and was distressed at their pale, shrunken imitation of flesh. I was nearly a corpse already, and I knew this imposed starvation could not continue, or I would be unable to fulfil my duties. Vampirism is a hard cross to bear. Forgive me. Even from my reader, I like to keep secrets until unavoidable.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs Harlow announced a family outing two weeks later. Apparently, the Harlows intended to go to Lady Sheffield’s ball, whether their hostess was inviting them for the sake of mere formality or not. Although the rest of the town was up in arms about their going, I happily anticipated waiting on them at Lady Sheffield’s—all I had to do was stand by the carriage a few hours, and I would be freed of all my other duties. Lucas hated the cold, so he volunteered my services.

A dreadful chill lingered when I helped the Harlows out of their carriage, but I paid it no mind. The coachman, whose name I still had not learned, parked the carriage in a deserted copse, probably destroying the Sheffields’ painstaking attempts at groundskeeping. A few moments later, I discovered why. Looking for witnesses and finding none, he crept inside the car for a nap, telling me to wake him if anyone came so he could make his escape. I promised to do so.

It was during these times, when the night seemed almost a living thing, that I felt almost at home--as much as I could feel at home anywhere. Minds with finer sensibilities might have decried the Sheffields’ taste in landscaping. I regret to say I have no appreciation or interest in these things whatsoever, so I cannot comment on the naturalness of their copses. But the cold air pricked my skin, and I began to almost tremble with faintness at the feeling of it. I slowly became aware of the coachman sleeping behind the coach door. If I concentrated, I could hear his breaths, and I could imagine his chest rising and falling with each one. In the darkness, none would see me take a quick drink. I couldn't imagine a foolhardier plan, but I was desperate enough to chance it.

Almost shaking with anticipation, I opened the door and hesitated, looking longingly at all the places to bite. His neck would leave visible marks, so that was out, but his arms would be covered by his sleeves. But a mark on his arm could not be explained by a stray snake. A stray snake creeping into a carriage to bite a man was an unusual story, to be sure, but, I reasoned happily, people would rather believe a stray snake than a stray vampire. I finally decided on his ankle, which was nearly falling over the edge of the seat. I had taken a step inside when I received one of the nastiest startles in my life.

‘Keeping warm, are you?’ said Miss Frances. ‘I am heartily sick of the cold, so I shall join you.’

I pushed the door to a gentle close and swallowed.

Without waiting for assent, she leaned against the carriage and seemed to have every intention to stay there; I edged away and tried not to look at the flush lining her cheeks. Her breaths came in little wisps, and my nose twitched at the scent of wine.

‘Shouldn’t you go back inside, miss?’ I said.

‘All there is to do inside is drink punch, and I have drank so much punch that I would be thrown out if I drank any more. I am very drunk. Not so drunk that I could not write a grammatically correct sentence right now, and if I can do that, I must be in control of my faculties. But I fear making a scene. Not just because of the wine.

‘I’m always about to make a scene,’ said Miss Frances placidly, ‘but I never do. Unlike my mother, I am quite the coward. What about you, Clarence? Do you ever feel the temptation to cause a scandal?’

‘I have the good sense never to get caught, miss.’

That surprised a laugh out of her.

‘Finally some life out of you. I was afraid we could not be friends if you kept that dreadful reserve,’ she said presently, and I wondered if she was using her drunkenness as a shield for bad conduct. If she tried to seduce me in this godforsaken pretentious copse, I was going to have her for supper, I thought balefully.

But fortunately, she did not seem so inclined. ‘It is so rare to find someone who seems somewhat intelligent,’ she continued. ‘So I would value our friendship.’

‘By that you mean my services,’ I demurred gently, turning the statement into a question on the last word.

‘I don’t know, Clarence, do I need your services?’ she said.

‘Many do,’ I replied.

‘I might,’ she said, as if I had not spoken. ‘You are right, I may well need them.’ In the dark, her eyes roved over my face, searching for some nameless something. ‘But does that preclude friendship?’

‘I don’t know why you would seek friendship with me, miss,’ I said, trying to swallow the last traces of thirst. ‘The difference in our stations—’

‘Oh! I almost forgot. A servant in London once complained to me his master never gave him a shilling when he was obliged to wait in the cold and wet, and I thought it most affecting. I’m sure there’s a shilling or two somewhere—aha!’ triumphant, she withdrew two coins and placed them on my palm. ‘Give one to Harry when he wakes up, won’t you?’

Then she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, trying for a nap. Unfortunately, feet could be heard approaching on the other side, and it was too late to warn the sleeping coachman. The stranger proved to be Mr Harlow. I straightened, but in vain, for he strode past me without a second glance, planting his feet firmly before the apathetic countenance of his daughter. Since I was not needed, I rested against the carriage and listened to the ensuing tirade.

‘Wandering off drunk out of your mind, without so much as a goodbye to Lady Sheffield? You know how that makes me look? Like I have a cheap slut of a daughter! You _want_ to ruin your sister’s last chance to catch a decent man? Last Spring it was fine gowns too low on the cuff, now it’s addling your head with drink! Either way, it’s a scandal every season! Too much like your damn whore of a mother, that’s what you are!’

Sharp silence followed, and I opened my palm, only to see the two shillings winking at me in the moonlight. When Miss Frances spoke, she sounded completely unaffected, easy even.

‘There might have been one person in the neighbourhood who didn’t know. I congratulate you on disabusing him.’

Mr Harlow did not respond, so Miss Frances tried a second time, trading some of her hard-earned composure for a tone that could have been addressed to one of her fellows if not for the brittle bite to it.

‘Was she really a whore? Mama always said she was a milliner—’

She was interrupted by a dull smack and a flash of Mr Harlow’s arm. I tipped my head back and examined the stars idly. I was in no mood tonight for angry fathers, and Miss Frances had shown kindness that few else did. If I intervened, however, I risked all sorts of consequences, losing my place the least among them. My condition granted me a few advantages, but I had not quite yet learned how to use them. I had often seen my old master calm his victims, so that they submitted easier to the bloodletting; the mechanics, however, were beyond me. So I must watch in silence.

Miss Frances doubled over, and I caught a flash of white teeth set in a rictus grin. A low laugh emanated from her lips, and she straightened to face her father, her features frozen in that awful expression. She dabbed at her cheek and continued as if a slap (I hoped it had been a slap) were a mere annoyance.

‘—And I was rather inclined to believe her. After all, it would not be out of the ordinary if, in your younger and less prosperous days, you delivered some fine fabrics to a millinery and happened to see a pretty girl behind the counter.’

‘Are you angry I took you in?’ Mr Harlow roared.

‘Ah, but Mama insisted you take me in,’ Miss Frances quietly demurred, and this seemed to enrage Mr Harlow even further.

‘She treated you as her own to spite me, to prove what a proper, forgiving wife she was, just so I would have to look—day after day—upon the worst mistake I ever made.’

I finally began to make some sense of this conversation, but I could scarcely imagine a circumstance more contrary to nature than a scorned wife deliberately raising a by-blow as her own in some sort of twisted revenge. None of it sounded rational, and I heartily wished myself elsewhere, especially as I began to experience a peculiar faintness in the head and stomach. It ate at me, this faintness, as if it were a living monster, clawing and grasping at something I knew not. If I had not been intimately acquainted with the cause, I would have scarcely known what my body needed. Unfortunately, there was no blood to be had without a slaughter. Unaware, I began to sink to the ground before my feet found purchase on the grass. I grit my teeth and willed myself to keep standing, wishing desperately that Miss Frances would leave so I could pounce on Mr Harlow; after that conversation, I would suffer little guilt in making him a victim. The bloodlust drove me mad enough to think that I would have little trouble learning the art of inducing forgetfulness. I began counting to ten, resolving to attack if one of them did not go away soon. They did not go away in ten seconds, and so I reset my count.

‘I really don’t think there is any more to say,’ said Miss Frances, sounding oddly tranquil. I could scarce look up at her, or at anything. ‘I am not sure what I am supposed to say, either.’

Mr Harlow stood around awkwardly, then muttered that he was going in to look for Mrs Harlow.

When his scent had grown faint, I gave myself leave to sink to the ground, pressing my hand to my mouth. Miss Frances swayed, finally coming to a rest against the carriage.

‘Don’t look so glum,’ she said brightly. ‘It was a dreadful scene, to be sure, but now you have choice gossip to share with the entire neighbourhood. _That_ is always a good bargain.’

I could hardly believe her flippancy when her own father had just slapped her and said worse besides, but it was a welcome distraction.

‘He’s lucky he left,’ I managed, ‘or I would have knocked him down.’

It was a dreadful slip, but I could not bring myself to care, and Miss Frances sounded only curious when she asked why.

‘I would think it’s obvious,’ I said.

‘But it has nothing to do with you, one way or another,’ said Miss Frances, ‘and you would have lost your place if you had hit him. Besides, it’s a small matter. He never hits hard; I daresay it won’t even bruise.’

‘Still a nasty brute.’ The wave of nausea had passed, and I was no longer tormented, but my tongue was still loose.

‘Are you ill?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Even in the moonlight you look—’

Miss Frances started forward, but the bustle of approaching company prevented her. The entire family now appeared.

‘Darling, Mr Harlow says you wandered off again; next time you must pay your dues with the rest of us—oh, my! What is the matter with Clarence?’

‘I think he is ill, mama,’ cried Miss Frances, despite my protests.

‘Then get him out of the cold,’ Mr Harlow snapped, to my extreme astonishment. ‘Put him in the carriage, by God.’

I would have liked nothing better than to be left alone to manage my bloodlust, but it was not so—the poor coachman was woken with several oaths so that he could help Mr Harlow hoist me into the _interior_ of the carriage.

‘I shall sit in the front, then,’ said Miss Frances carelessly, before I could stop her.

So it was I was forced to accept kindness from the man I had recently decided to hate for the rest of eternity, struggling not to eat anyone the whole ride home.


End file.
